Of Betterment
by Yasona Black
Summary: Harry talks to Snape about his faults. Nonslash, slight HBP spoilers


**Title:** Of Betterment

**Rating: **PG or Kplus

**Disclaimer:** I don't own HP

**Summary:** Harry talks to Snape about his faults. Slight HBP spoilers, non-slash

**A/N: **There might be a continuation but I'm not too sure right now.

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"You know Snape," Harry said half-heartedly, "Hate's a strange thing. You can go on and on with your life and only hate one person in your life, or you can hate more than one person in your life," he paused as if he was expecting an answer. There was none.

"It's a lot like love, same way, just a different was of looking at it. It soon becomes the same irrational behavior that will make you do what you know in your mind what you will regret." He sat down cross-legged on the soft grass and began again without an answer. "Your emotions and your mind have to flow together, have to do everything together to do things right, and this is where we are opposite."

The boy sighed and looked at his hands, they were covered in dirt and grime and his fingernails were broken down so far that the skin looked as if it were taking over.

"You ruled yourself without emotion, by doing so, you kept yourself just above the despair that was so near. I was once like that, but then I went to Hogwarts and found friends and I learned to let my emotions run rampant and uncontained and hid my mind, my logic, and reasoning away, they had never helped before, so I didn't they could help now."

A gust of icy wind blew and Harry didn't even flinch, and sat perfectly still.

"You hated my father, and you had good reason to, had he done that to me I would've hated him too. The only problem is I don't know what hate is any more, it has become so entangled with everything else, with love, fear, righteous anger, the ability to protect, and just everything. But I know that I would've hated him too."

Harry spread his hands apart, "But I didn't know him then, all I wanted was to believe in a picture-perfect family, but I took that away from myself, because it was my fault I let my curiosity stand in the way. I want you to know that I hope I would die before I become like my father. I will not be like him, I will not be like him, or Dudley, or Vernon. I will not lower myself that far."

He clasped his hands together. "But you did. You lowered yourself further than he did, and then you thought that you were not at fault just because he mocked your dignity. It was petty and foolish and in that way, in some strange twisted way, you let your emotions rule you, you let yourself hold a grudge. Some grudge you held, the guy was dead after you were the one to sell him out, and still couldn't let it go."

He paused; a longer one this time, as if he was waiting for an answer, but none came.

"I didn't hate you at first, but you hated me the moment you laid eyes on me. You made judgments before I had even opened my mouth. I didn't know why you hated me so much, but now I know. Your dignity and your pride were bruised, and you couldn't let it go. You should have let it go, then perhaps you wouldn't be where you are right now."

He stood up, but his voice stayed the same, a serene calmness that seemed to mock everything around him.

"Perhaps if you weren't so angry at something so petty, you wouldn't have joined Voldemort, perhaps if you just listened to your conscious, of which I know you have, perhaps you would have never sold out my parents. Perhaps if you did something right, you wouldn't have killed Dumbledore, or maybe that was the only thing you did right. Well…maybe not right, but you did it not for your wounded pride, and not for Voldemort, and it was start."

He sighed and twiddled a black rose that lay half-hazardly in his hand, paying no heed to the thorns that began to tear his skin.

"I gave you enough time, but you never stopped spying, I still don't know who for, but it doesn't matter, it never mattered. You couldn't just one side, both of them were killing you inside. White magic was too pure for your mind, and even though you couldn't admit it, dark magic was not your passion. Yes, you were good at it, but you didn't have passion for it. And that was a part in your downfall."

He laid the black rose down in front of him.

"When I killed you, I didn't hate you, I thought I did, but instead I hated what you did. It felt as if you were the reason why everyone I was close to were dying and I couldn't stand it. I hated the fact that Dumbledore was dead and I wouldn't have any idea of who to turn to. I know now that you didn't want to kill Dumbledore, but instead you had to, and I think that it was the bravest thing you had ever done. Maybe not the right thing, but close to it."

Harry kneeled down, and picked up the rose and slid his finger down one of the thorns. He moved his hand on the stone in front of him, making shapes and patterns with his own blood. He stood up once again and turned back away from the gravestone and soon all that could be seen was a lone figure in the distance, far away from a gray, stone grave marker with the words _I'm sorry_ written upon it in red.

_"You were just as bad as he was…"_


End file.
